


To Bond and Break

by Ionah



Series: Insignificant Things [3]
Category: Grimm
Genre: Dark, M/M, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionah/pseuds/Ionah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick begins to realize the truth of Renard's actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Bond and Break

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked how the previous 2 stories in the series left things, I suggest you don't read on. This has the beginnings of a plot. (Part 4 is almost complete and has even more plot because I just--couldn't--stop.) No beta. I wrote this for my own enjoyment, so if something's messed up, I'm truly sorry. Squee with me if you will. I desperately need some Grimm friends.

What Nick discovered right away was that it was harder to look at the captain than he'd thought it would be. Hiding his anger, his rage, took everything Nick had in him, but somehow he managed to hold it all in, until the captain looked up at him from his place in front of his desk, staring right at Nick, so solemn and thoughtful that Nick barely managed to excuse himself fast enough.

He held it together long enough to get to the bathroom, where he spent the next two minutes retching over the toilet and thinking about all the things he couldn't erase from his memory now that he knew. The captain had been drugging him and fucking him, and it wasn't the thought of the act itself that had done it, although he hadn't ever considered letting a man fuck him; it was everything else. His will, his trust, his desire, his home and his bed, violated and stolen.

He didn't understand, even after forcing himself to watch again, and again, angrier every time, how Sean Renard's knowledge of him being a Grimm fit into what Renard had done, but Nick couldn't believe it was a coincidence.

For ten, maybe twenty seconds, as Nick's arms trembled while he braced himself over the toilet bowl, he almost wished he had stayed ignorant.

This was Captain Renard for god's sake, a man Nick had come to respect and appreciate, a man who had supported Nick on every case he'd worked since making detective, trusting Nick to get it done right, even before Nick had fully earned that trust.

That was what scared Nick the most, that he was still having trouble reconciling the man he had seen on the video with the man he had left standing in his office down the hall. Every look left Nick feeling disorientated and out of touch, and it reminded him of the days leading up to the big revelation of his heritage as a Grimm, a nightmare of conflicted feelings brought on by the unexpected and unexplained visions of monsters hiding beneath the guise of ordinary people.

Nick swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then pushed himself to stand on shaky legs. Hiding in the bathroom wasn't going to get him anywhere. He needed time to figure out Captain Renard's connection to the Grimm world.

Hank was waiting for him near his desk. “You okay?” he asked when Nick got close. “You don't look so good, maybe you should've stayed home. I can handle things here.”

“No, I'm okay. Must have been something I ate. I'm fine now.” Which was an outright lie because he hadn't been fine since he'd watched that video but how could he tell Hank that?

The captain opened the door to his office and gestured for Hank and Nick to come inside.

Nick followed Hank, who knew more than Nick about their case at this point, because Nick had stayed away Saturday and Sunday, telling himself he needed time to tamp down the rage that threatened to overtake him every time he closed his eyes. His time with Juliette had been strained and awkward. Sleep had been impossible for two nights. What little he'd managed had been filled with vivid dreams of betrayal and surrender. 

As they crossed the threshold into the captain's office, Hank looked over his shoulder at Nick. “That card we found on the vic? Wu put in a call to Henderson, McCaffre & Frost and it paid off. We just found out he had a secret will that cut his family out of everything. Bet somebody's pissed right now.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “That probably wasn't a nice surprise for our suspect.”

“Hell no. Bet he's furious.”

“Do we have anything that's not circumstantial?” Captain Renard asked, too close to Nick for comfort.

Renard reached around Nick to pull the door closed and when his arm brushed casually against Nick's shoulder, Nick shifted to the side. He shouldn't have done it. He knew that right away. Renard's cool green eyes flickered across Nick's face, meeting his gaze for a brief moment before glancing over at Hank, who was flipping open the case file in his hands.

“Hold on, Hank,” Renard said, his smooth, steady voice giving nothing away.

Nick shoved his hands into his pockets. 

Hank raised his head. “Captain?”

The captain's gaze returned to Nick and lingered. Nick's heart thumped heavily at the extended perusal. He knew he looked worn out. The lack of sleep and constant battle with denial and anger had also left his eyes bloodshot and tired. Eye drops hadn't helped much.

“Give us a few minutes,” Renard said. “Nick and I need to discuss something privately before we get started.”

Nick tensed but otherwise stood there and tried to look casually curious about whatever the captain might need to talk to him about. This might be exactly what it seemed. Nick's gut said otherwise.

Like most everyone in the station, Hank respected Captain Renard's authority and he didn't often question his orders. The look Hank directed at Nick said any questioning would be saved for him, later.

“I'll get Sgt. Wu to pulling phone records for the rest of our vic's family. Our guy might not be working alone,” Hank said, already walking toward the door. 

With a last glance at Nick, Hank left and closed the door behind him. 

Renard waited a moment, quietly appraising Nick. 

“What's bothering you, Nick?”

Just the tone of Renard's voice set Nick's teeth on edge. Looking at him, staring at that face, knowing what he knew, how he'd had Nick writhing on that bed, literally _begging_ for his cock... Nick wasn't sure where his restraint came from, but without it, he knew he would've already had his hands around Renard's throat, regardless of the open blinds and clear windows that hid nothing from the view of his co-workers and friends. He wanted to kill Renard, and he wanted to do it with his bare hands.

“Nothing.” Nick pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“If you have a problem, you should tell me,” Renard said, his voice dark and compelling, his eyes so deeply shadowed that Nick thought for moment he was going to lose himself in them.

Nick opened his mouth and for an instant, for as long as it took him to breathe in and form the words in his mind, he meant to tell Renard everything. 

He held in the words, but only just barely and the graying at the edge of his vision stopped. Renard stared back at him, questioning and ordinary.

What the hell? Nick exhaled a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. “I need to get busy on this case,” he said, knowing his voice sounded unsteady but unable to do anything about it.

Renard tilted his head. “How did you figure it out?”

“Hank and Wu--”

“Not that, Nick. You know what I'm talking about.”

No more doubt, no more disbelief, because the truth was right there in the inflection and tone of Renard's voice. An admittance to everything Nick had seen on the video, a confession to shared knowledge. Anger flared bright and sharp.

“You fucking bastard.” The words were out before he could stop them. His hands curled into fists as he unfolded his arms and dropped them to his side.

Renard straightened, his face becoming a mask of calm control. His gaze skimmed over Nick, and Nick tried not to imagine what Renard might be seeing or remembering.

“I set up a camera to catch a quilt thief,” Nick said, harsh but low. “I got more than I bargained for.”

“We take down criminals every day because they make careless mistakes or overlook details they think of as insignificant. I knew I was taking a chance the second time I took your quilt, but taking it seemed less likely to give me away than leaving it and I needed more time.”

“I should kill you right here.”

“You won't kill me. You might wish you could, but you won't. Even though it's early yet, you can't undo what's been done.”

Nick leaned in aggressively and pointed his finger at Renard's chest. “The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because I've got questions you're damn well going to answer for me.”

The line of Renard's mouth tightened, his lips thinning, and Nick knew he'd pissed Renard off with his threat. 

“Then ask for your answers,” Renard said, gray-green eyes hard and fearless, in that same voice Nick had heard on the video, giving direction, telling him what to do, what to say....

_Ask for it..._

Nick lunged, open blinds and see-through windows a faint memory in the haze of absolute fury that swamped every rational thought in his head. He grabbed the lapels of Renard's suit jacket, his fingers clenching in the fabric, his arms yanking hard, pulling him forward despite the difference in their size.

The door jerked open just as Renard's hands came up and squeezed Nick's wrists.

Hands grabbed at Nick's shoulders, hauling him off Renard.

“Nick, Nick—what the hell's got into you?” Hank's voice.

“Captain?” Wu asked.

Nick looked around at the men holding him back, his partner, his co-workers Wu and Martin. He couldn't explain his actions to these guys, couldn't say anything meaningful in front of them. He was the one who would come off looking crazy, out of his mind, and he knew it. So did Renard. 

Nick was the one who saw monsters. He saw one standing in front of him right now, even if this particular monster seemed entirely human.

He shrugged Hank's hands off his shoulders. He stared at Renard, breathing through his nose, the sound harsh and loud to his own ears.

“It's okay,” Renard said. He stared back at Nick and straightened his jacket. “We're not done here.”

“No, we're not,” Nick said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hank shift on his feet, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do now. 

Renard's gaze flickered away from Nick to his men. “This is between me and Nick. You're not needed.”

Wu winced. Martin, a short, stout man who'd only been in homicide for a few weeks, cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. 

Hank's confusion turned to a scowl and he touched Nick's arm. “I'm not leaving you in here alone just so you can get your ass suspended, Nick.”

“I've got it handled,” Nick said.

“You sure?” Hank asked. “Because it sure as hell looked like you were about to do something stupid.”

“Nick has himself under control, Detective Griffin.” Renard's pointed use of Hank's title was an unsubtle reminder to everyone of who was in charge. 

The moment stretched out briefly before Hank gave Captain Renard a nod and shot Nick a look before leading the others out of the office. Wu was the last to leave and as soon as the door closed behind him, Nick turned on Renard. 

“Why?” he demanded. “Why did you do it? What the hell is this all about?”

“It was time to take our relationship to the next level.”

“Relationship?” Nick jerked his hand back and forth between them. “There is no relationship here.”

“You're wrong. I've been waiting for you to come into your own for years, Nick. Your future lies with me now.”

Nick had guessed Renard had plans for him; he'd watched the video, heard Renard's words too many times to ever forget them. _I will have what is rightfully mine..._

He pushed back with words of his own. “You what? Got a kick out of fucking the new Grimm up the ass? Taking what you wouldn't get any other way? You come near me again and there'll be no more questions. I'll kill you.”

Renard raised his eyebrows, questioning and dismissing Nick's threat in one simple expression. “You have no idea of the forces at play here. Do you honestly believe I would risk so much just for the chance to fuck the pretty new Grimm? Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed every one of our encounters, but I can fuck ass anytime I want. This was never just about sex.”

Nick didn't know how he kept from lunging at Renard again. A sick dread settled in his stomach. “If it wasn't about the sex, then what the hell was it about?”

Renard didn't take his eyes off Nick. “Your will,” he said, the words cold and hard and terrifying. 

Everything Nick had been feeling, every bit of control he'd had, twisted under the light of knowledge and he realized what it meant.

Denial sat on the tip of his tongue, but he knew-- _knew_ \--something was wrong, had known since he'd lost what little breakfast he'd choked down this morning in the bathroom. Renard had done something to him, something much worse than fuck his ass a few times.

“What the hell have you done to me?”

Renard's gaze scoured Nick from head to toe. “Every fuck, every kiss, every caress, has had one purpose, Nick, one single overriding intent. To bind you to me so tightly that you will never escape my will. You are mine, Grimm.”

A shiver raced over Nick's suddenly hot skin. “Never.”

Renard continued as if Nick hadn't spoken. “There are a few things you need to keep in mind. I share only with those I don't consider a threat. I expect loyalty and devotion. You do my bidding, and you do it well, and you will be rewarded. You have no idea what hell will rain down on you if you so much as look at another man. You can have Juliette; she's yours to do with as you please, but if you want to keep her, you'll remember that every relationship has a certain level of give and take. Consider her continued affections my gift to you. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you and Juliette belong together. _Le véritable amour._ When you're with me, you know who you belong to.”

“You're out of your mind.”

“No, Nick. I'm claiming what already belongs to me. Nothing more.”

“This has gone far enough,” Nick said, pinching the bridge of his nose, furious that he wasn't trying to beat the shit out of Renard right this moment. “I'm not listening to any more of this.”

“Go home, Nick. Take the rest of the day off.” Renard glanced down at the folder on the corner of his desk and straightened the edge of until it lined up neat and orderly. His calm dismissal and his lack of concern over the threat Nick posed might as well have been a slap in the face. “Spend the evening with Juliette and when I call tonight, be ready to tell her you have a work matter to attend to. We still have a lot to discuss and this isn't the place.”

Nick's breath came out in a rush as he dropped his hand to his side. “Go fuck--”

“You will come when I call,” Renard interrupted, returning his gaze to Nick, his voice a projection of will that forewarned of a future where Nick would never dare to defy him.

Nick realized in that moment that unless he found a way to reverse what Renard had done, he would never have his revenge, because if he'd been able to kill Renard, he would have done it in that moment, without hesitation.

He backed up a step, then another, and then jerked around to grab the doorknob. He yanked the door open so hard it swung into the wall, bouncing back with a loud crack and drawing all eyes to him. He ignored the shock on the faces of his friends and co-workers, Hank's confused “Nick?,” and Renard's eyes on his back. He left, because if he stayed, he would go crazy with the pent up desire to kill Sean Renard.

He ignored Hank's calls to his cell and drove his Cruiser straight to the spice shop. 

The bell over the door jangled when he stepped inside, while sweet, sharp scents assailed him, and although Rosalee wasn't behind the counter, she walked through the door from her workshop in the back before he made it across the room.

“I have a problem,” he said, getting right to the point as he approached the counter. The unsteady shake in his voice pissed him off, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “I'm really hoping you can help me out.” 

She blinked up at him with a curious tilt of her head. It wasn't often he came in without Monroe.

Which made him think to ask, “Monroe isn't here, is he?”

She carefully set the teacup she carried on the counter in front of her. “No. Is something wrong?”

“I need to know if you've heard of a drug or a potion that steals a person's will from them, or maybe just--” He waved his hand, unsure how to explain, and settled for the only description he could come up with. “Maybe overlays a person's will with the will of someone else.” He paused, thinking of more he could tell her. “And memories. The victim can't remember anything from around the time of exposure.”

Her eyes stayed on him, but he could tell she was running through her thoughts, trying to match his words to anything she might know. 

“How is the drug administered?”

“In liquid. Alcohol, I think, maybe water or coffee.” He couldn't remember. The video hadn't shown anything leading up to Renard guiding him into his own bedroom, hand on his shoulder. After that, the rest had happened quickly, even if it had gone on for several hours. 

He reached up and scrubbed his hands over his face, taking in a few deep breaths. He was tired. Sleepless nights and the stress of the face-off with the captain were taking a toll on him. He'd needed every second of the trip here to get his anger under control.

“I don't know,” Rosalee said slowly, bringing him back to the moment. “Are there any other notable effects?”

He put his shaking hands down at his sides, where she couldn't see them easily from her position on the other side of the counter. “Yeah. Sex. It makes the victim desperate for sex. Completely out of his mind with it.”

Her mouth pursed, and she walked further behind the counter until she'd reached her stash of books. “I might know of something,” she said, “but the symptoms you mention would be a rare and tricky combination to get right.” 

She plopped one of her big books down on the counter, one full of recipes of potions, and then flipped through the pages. She stopped on a page about three-fourths of the way in. Her fingertip trailed down the page. “This might be it, but it's almost impossible to concoct because the ingredients are so hard to find. I don't even have the half of them here in the shop, although it's possible I could get at least a few more if I had the right connections...Ah, yes. Here.”

She turned the book toward him, pointing at a line on the page. He looked at it, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head. “I don't know what that means.”

She flipped the book around and translated. “Quite literally the words mean 'to bond and break'. It's pretty powerful stuff meant to be administered in several doses. It says...” She skimmed more text. “Ah, the dosage can vary for any of the reasons in this list. One party takes the recipe as spelled out here.” She pressed the tip of her finger to the page, and then slid it down to another set of scratchy lines. “The other party takes this modified version.” She raised her head to look at him before being drawn back to the text. “It's potent. You really don't want to mess with this.”

He watched her gaze travel further down the page and a furrow formed between her eyebrows. She flipped to the next page and kept reading. Nick saw the moment her expression changed from curious to alarmed.

“Why do you need this information, Nick?” 

He had come here for help. Although it bothered him to say it, he told her anyway, “I think someone gave it to me.”

“How many times?”

“Twice—no, at least three times.” Two missing quilts, one video, no memory of any of it.

“Oh, Nick. I'm so sorry.”

He held himself steady, resting his hand on top of the counter. Rosalee carefully closed the book.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Have you had sex with her?”

“Him,” he admitted, reluctant but resigned. Holding back the truth wouldn't help him, and Rosalee seemed to be the only person he knew capable of doing that. “And yes, at least those same three times.”

“You're in serious trouble, Nick. We have to tell Monroe.”

“No. You can't tell Monroe. The person who did this has the power to ruin his life. Yours too. I can't involve you in that kind of mess.” He tapped his finger on the counter. “This is what I need from you. Information, assistance. Guidance. Tell me how to stop whatever it's doing to me.”

“Nick,” she said again, and he heard it this time, the sorrow, the pain. “It can't be stopped. You can kill him and end it, but if you do, you'll die too.”

“No,” he said. “That can't be right.”

But she didn't take any of it back. “I'm so sorry.”


End file.
